


The Doctor's Son

by n_a_feathers



Category: The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Coldflashweek2016, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 16:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8760646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_a_feathers/pseuds/n_a_feathers
Summary: A story of the doctor's son and the stranger.Written for Coldflash week Day Two, Fairy Tale AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the yuki-onna of Japanese folklore.

This is a story of the cold north. It is a story of the doctor’s son.

 

When the mountains were covered in snow, the doctor’s son would go hunting; for if he did not go hunting, his family would surely starve. The doctor was a kind man and would ask no more from his patients than they could spare as payment. In winter this often meant his own family went without.

 

His son was fleet of foot and his aim was true. He was as at home among the snow-capped mountains as in the village. Often he could be seen in the winter coming down the foothills with game slung over his back.

 

On one particular day, a blizzard descended unexpectedly upon the mountains. The winds tugged at the boy’s clothing and the chill caressed his exposed cheeks. As the snow drifts piled up, the doctor’s son feared he would be trapped in the mountains and perish.

 

Just as he was about to despair, he caught sight of a hunting cabin which he had never seen before. Although its presence seemed odd, he decided he must weather the storm there. To proceed any further in this state would be folly.

 

With supplies from his pack he was able to set a fire to warm his chilled body. After hours of climbing up the mountains and then trying to find shelter from the blizzard, the doctor’s son was exhausted. He lay down before the fire pit and fell quickly asleep. 

 

The storm raged all night. At one point it gave an almighty push and sent the door to the cabin banging inwards. The wind raced inside, excited to have foiled man’s attempt to tame it and mischievously blew out the fire. The doctor’s son slept through it all.

 

When he finally awoke it was to the fire extinguished, the cabin open to the elements and a chill creeping into his veins. His hands had fallen numb and his jaw soon ached from his chattering teeth.

 

He was no longer alone in the cabin.

 

A man stood in the doorway, watching him. His skin was as pale as snow, though he was clothed all in black. Most curiously, he wore no shoes yet that did not seem to worry him. His gaze was as sharp as a razor and though he carried no weapon, the doctor’s son was afraid.

 

The boy wanted to run but his body was frozen twofold by cold and by fear. He knew without evidence that he was in the presence of an otherworldly being – a snow spirit.

 

 The being slowly approached him.

 

As he neared, the doctor’s son felt as if any small heat that may have remained in the room was being leeched away.  He felt the very warmth from his veins being stolen. The man came to crouch over the prone form of the doctor’s son. His lips where they brushed against the boy’s own were as ice and seemed to leech the heat and life from wherever they touched.

 

When he spoke however, his voice was warm – albeit strangely cadenced.

 

“You are still young,” the man said. “Not only that, you are lovely. I will spare you. However, if you tell anyone of what happened this night, your life will be forfeit.”

 

There was a chill on the doctor’s son’s mouth and then the man was gone in a flurry of snow.

 

***

 

When the doctor’s son awoke it was morning and the blizzard had stopped.

 

With fairer weather on his side, he was able to descend from the mountain and return to his family. He told them of the snowstorm and of his night in the hunting cabin but said nothing of the mysterious being who he had met. His mother and father were just glad to have him back safely.

 

Winter slid into spring and times were not so hard. The doctor’s son no longer needed to go into the mountains to hunt quite so often and instead busied himself learning his father’s trade.

 

With spring came showers. Not the cold, dreary rain of winter which must be suffered through but the gentle, life giving patter at the door of summer. During one such downpour, the doctor’s son was returning home from fetching some materials needed by his father for his practice. As has been mentioned, the doctor’s son was swift of foot and so saw no need to take shelter from the rain; instead he ran between the drops.

 

When he arrived home, he was surprised to see a man under his house’s awnings.

 

As the doctor’s son approached, the stranger looked up. The boy had never seen such a handsome man. But he could also never forget the face of the spirit who had spared his life in the cabin that winter’s night.

 

 _He has come to kill me_ , the boy was certain.

 

The doctor’s son paled and was frozen to the spot.

 

The man did not move to attack him, however.

 

“Hello,” he said. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but could I shelter here from the rain?”

 

The doctor’s son feared what the man may be planning, but it seemed he was in no immediate danger. He had kept his promise to never speak of the incidents at the cabin to anyone and so should be safe. Having convinced himself of that, he invited the stranger into his home.

 

The man was new to the town but he and the doctor’s son soon became fast friends. The boy’s initial suspicions were forgotten.  

 

Being a small town on the outskirts of civilisation, everyone was privy to everyone else’s business. The appearance of the stranger in the town was cause for rumour and speculation for a month or so until it became apparent he would not leave in the near future. Eventually his presence was accepted and he became just another fixture of the town.

 

More often than not he was to be found in the company of the doctor’s son.

 

As the years passed and the doctor’s son grew into full adulthood, it seemed sensible for him to leave the nest, as it were, and make a go of it on his own. It was agreed that he should share lodgings with the stranger until he should have established himself more in the world.

 

The doctor’s son took over his father’s practice eventually but never moved from the house he shared with the stranger.

 

There were rumours, as there always were in small towns, but as the two of them did nothing to disrupt the peace of the town, the rumours were considered nothing more than entertainment to while away the changing of the seasons. Differences didn’t matter if they weren’t too obvious.

 

One stormy winter’s night, the doctor’s son – now a man in his own rights – was drinking. The stranger usually abstained but this night the doctor’s son had convinced him to share a cup. Perhaps it was the liquid courage in his veins or the similarities between that night and this one. Or perhaps it was simply that the itch to mention it had just become too strong to ignore anymore. At any rate, the doctor’s son started to tell a story.

 

As the wind rattled the windowpanes, he told the stranger of his ill-timed trip into the mountains, of a night much like this, of the blizzard and of the shelter he found. Finally he spoke of the man who had visited him.

 

“He was beautiful and fearsome at the same time. When I first saw you, I must admit I thought you were him,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh.

 

The stranger had remained silent throughout the story but now he downed his cup in one go and stood to his full height. The doctor’s son was suddenly aware of the warmth of the room vanishing.

 

“I wondered when it would finally come to this. I told you to never tell anyone.”

 

The doctor’s son realised his mistake. Or rather, his lack of one. The man he had spied beneath his awnings all those years ago had indeed been the same spirit from the mountain who had spared his life one wintery night.

 

“Please don’t kill me,” pleaded the doctor’s son.

 

There was a sadness in the stranger’s eyes as he softly replied, “I could never.”

 

The door slammed open, the wind blew and the snow scattered.

 

The doctor’s son ran from the house and out into the winter night. No matter how hard he searched, there were no footprints in the snow or other evidence of his companion.

 

The stranger was gone.

 

***

 

Winter that year was the harshest it had ever been or ever was. Frost crept down the mountain and turned the earth as hard as rock. No one was buried that winter. They lit bonfires in the cemetery but even that didn’t warm the earth enough to make it workable.

 

Snow piled up around houses and more than a few rooves were lost under the unusual weight of it. The livestock did not see the outside until late April that year. Even in the barns there was not much heat to be found, and the cows, horses and pigs would huddle together in the straw.

 

A vicious wind chased after anyone who ventured from their house. It would pursue the children brave enough or bored enough to leave their houses, nipping at their feet and tugging at their coats and chilling them to the bone. No one left the town that winter, not even the doctor’s son.

 

Eventually spring returned, as it always must. The animals and children were allowed to run free and the dead were buried.

 

Where the stranger had gone, no one knew. Speculation kept the town in amusement for a little while but eventually he was forgotten as all transient things are in towns that have remained unchanged for centuries.  The doctor’s son still lodged where they had always lived but he disappeared into the mountains every winter following the harsh one when the stranger left. What he did there, no one could say.

 

He would emerge only when the snow retreated up the mountain sides and the rivers grew gravid.

 

His disappearance and return soon became just another way in which the town marked the seasons.

 

Until one summer he did not return.


End file.
